Fairy Moon
by Althior
Summary: Luna Lovegood is eleven years old and will be going to Hogwarts in two weeks. Yet she remains troubled and changed by the death of her mother two years earlier. Can her encounter with the Ladies of the Lake help her come to terms with her mother's death?


Fairy Moon by Althior

Everything that lives,lives not alone, nor for itself. William Blake, 1787

Day the First

As I closed the thick, old wooden door, I could still hear my father laughing. He so loves his own jokes. He had warned me to "beware the whales of Wales!" I was then assured that the next issue of The Quibbler would have an article about Welsh whales. Ah, well.

Father and I are on holiday in a remote part of Wales. He calls it a "working vacation." So far, he hasn't left very often the quaint, old country inn where we're staying. He justs sits in the public room, gazing out the window, and desultorily reading bits and pieces of old, leather bound books haphazardly placed on a table in front him. I can't figure out what he's working on, but he smiles when he thinks I'm not looking, and sighs when evening comes and the moon begins to rise. Tonight the moon is nearly full, and I'm bored with staying inside.

"Come on, Orbit! Come on, girl." Orbit is my dog. She's part terrier and part... Well, I was never sure about the other part. I wasn't even positive the other half was dog! Mum and Dad gave her to me when I was five years old. Like a tiny whirlwind bent on mischief, she would always run around and around me as I walked or played. So Mum named her Orbit. I know it's a silly name, but when I was five I loved it because I finally got to be the earth and someone else the moon. I was the center of somebody's attention. It's nice to have your own small furry, black satellite who sticks close to you.

As Orbit and I began to stroll along the dusty lane, the sun wandered down the edge of the sky like a lazy spider crawling down a wall. The old ramshackle inn grew smaller as ancient trees began to loom over us. The August heat was gentle and touched me but lightly as we slowly walked between tall trees flanking the gritty dirt road. Orbit, in typical fashion, would run a bit, stop, run some more and then look surprisedly at me as if she had just discoverd dust. A tiny sneeze erupted from her.

"My heavens, girl! Another explosion like that and you'll be turned inside out and then you'd be a sight." Her fur would probably tickle her innards. I snickered as my imagination drew a picture of a surprised inside out Orbit. "Oh, dear!" The image was, indeed, grim and quieted my amusement.

I'm used to wandering around in lonely places with Orbit. You see, my father is the editor of The Quibbler, a magazine of the wizarding world that most people describe as monstrous dreams and mad ramblings made inky on paper. I used to like The Quibbler and the weird visions it held in its pages, though now I'm not sure. My mother, though, cherished every issue. Every time Dad brought home the latest edition and gave it to Mum, she acted as if it were a love lettter my father had written just for her. Her eyes would sparkle with mischief and fire, like sapphires near flame. It's funny, though. I don't think I ever saw her read it.

Of course, Orbit found good use for The Quibbler's pages strewn across the kitchen floor. Mum used to laugh and say when Orbit had finished her business, "Well, there's another critic's opinion." I hadn't heard that laugh for a long time.

Mum died two years ago. She used to tell me tales of fabulous creatures and eerie places. While she worked over her cauldron, busy with some new magic, she would weave stories that made me smile and cause my imagination to sail away on ships that never floated on an earthly sea. But now my imagination stays close to shore. It's safer there. I can manage things I can see, and if mysteries do exist then maybe it is better they be solved.

"You get along fine without nasty old mysteries, don't you Orbit?" She cocked her head, looked at me steadily, and then barked tow sharp yelps. I took that as confirmation. "We can solve anything, can't we girl?"

That's why I was going to explore a nearby lake the owner of our inn had mentioned was haunted. I would rather beleive there are no ghosts. At sunset, local people had reported at various times strange lights playing at the water's edge and hearing curious noises not made by the wind in the trees.

The innkeeper had also muttered something about unusual herbs growing along its banks that made people see curious things. The taciturn host really hadn't wanted to tell me how to find the lake, you could see that straight away. But Daddy told him, "Luna's very resourceful. She can find her way like a mouse after cheese. And if there's a mystery, she'll sniff it out." I knew Daddy was proud of me. In fact, he encouraged my exploration of the lake.

Mum would have wanted me to go adventuring too. She was a great and beautiful witch. If even a hint of a new and powerful herb came to her, she would be off in a shot to find it.

"Remember the time, Orbit, when you ate a mixture of bewitched Goblin Weed and Ornithorhyncus Mirabilis? Were you ever a mess. I thought Mum would never get your head right again. And those webbed feet! You weren't too happy about the scales, as I remember. It took her hours to get you looking like yourself once more. After that, you became a strict carnivore. No more veggies for you, eh girl?"

Of course, Mum wouldn't have cared if Orbit looked like a four-footed platypus from the goblin realms. I think Mum loved every living creature. Snakes, snails, gnats - it didn't matter. She loved all little things. The more insignificant something was, the more she held it close to her heart. She never treated anything as if it had little worth. I used to think this preoccupation odd, since Mum was a Magical Researcher. She was responsible for so many grand, sweeping theories that revealed the structure of magic and the wizarding world. Mum admired a long dead Muggle poet, whom she always quoted to me. He had written, "Everything possible to be believed is an image of truth."

But Mum loved my dad and me the most. She would hug me as she explained her spells and taught me all manner of useful and practical arts. I can remember the smell of cinnamon and old magic books when I think of her. She would say, "Luna you must always use your mind when doing magic. If you don't, terrible things can happen." She was so smart, so beautiful. Her hair hung to her waist like mine, although hers was like gold in the evening of the day. I think she knew nearly everything, or at least allowed me to believe she did. But then something went terribly wrong with one of her new spells, and she was killed.

I wished she had lived long enough to see me go to Hogwarts. I'll be going there in two weeks. I hope I am sorted into Ravenclaw House like my mother. I swear I'll work hard and be a smart, thinking witch just like she was. Maybe I'll make a lot of friends. Now that she's gone from my life, I need friends more than I ever did. Daddy has his work to keep him busy, but when he thinks I'm not around, I sometimes hear him talk to Mum next to the ratty, old, oversized purple chair she used to sit in. I still can't talk to her, though Daddy says I should try. Why bother? I don't think she can hear me.

It's not that I don't love Daddy. I just miss Mum. Her voice always comforted me by shooing away my fears and doubts when I stumbled upon something I didn't understand, something that scared me. But Daddy seems to like to be scared! I don't understand why he makes up stories about Scarlet Wartles, Flaming Farloops, or Frabjous whatevers. Doesn't he know these things are scary? They're supposed to have scales, slink around in the night, and frighten the wits out of people. I don't want to hear about them, let alone read about them. The Wizarding world is spooky enough without Daddy making up things to worry about.

My thoughts about Mum had carried me away. But then I noticed Orbit had become stock-still and was pointing her nose at a particularly gloomy clump of foliage. She stared at it intently as if waiting for a challenge. Suddenly, she shot off into the bushes. Her barking grew fainter, and now I saw that she had discovered the little path about which the surly innkeeper had told me. Obscured by brambles and oddly colored flowers flourishing between two old, gnarled oak trees I followed Orbit into the gloaming of the forest.

Orbit was hopping and bouncing as she sailed down the path. "Oh, Orbit! Look, girl, at how tall the trees are. It almost looks like they touch the sky." Of course, I should have been paying more attention to the ground, a lesson forgotten with sad conseqence. I tripped and fell hard. I felt stupid spread out like discarded wrapping paper from a gift quickly opened. My cape was wraped around me like a snake around a field mouse.

With my forehead in the grass, frustration and anger spilled over. "Dragon's bane! When will I ever learn?" I looked up a little and saw Orbit prone with her front paws stretched out, her head resting gently on the tip of an old, battered, brown boot. Jumping up, I wanted to see what kind of person was attached to the leg lodging in such disreputable footwear. Before me was a small, almost withered man not much taller than I. He was draped in a brown cape peppered with holes, not all of which were small. His pants were forest green and hung on him carelessly, apparently not wishing to take on the shape of his legs. He leaned on an old gnarled walking stick that looked like it had a dragon's fang for a handle. I tried to look at his face, but couldn't see his eyes because of an ancient, pointed hat that flopped down almost to his nose. I thought such an arrangement must tickle and waited for him to sneeze.

He stood quietly for a moment. Then he made a slight bow. "Welcome, young miss. Th' trees meant n' harm. They're very old and slow. Ev'n if they were disposed t' harm ye, i' would take days fer 'em t' conjure up a plan. Nay, they mostly enjoy th' comp'ny o' others now days. But ye need t' be payin' 'tention i' these woods, wee miss. There be much unseen, but few things 're unseein' here 'bouts. Ye'll be noticed standin' er lyin'. Aye, up er down make no dif'rence. Ye're not hurt, 're ye?"

His admonitions and solicitude made my mind jangle like a bell struck twice in rapid succession. "Hurt? No, I don't think so. What do you mean I'll be noticed? By whom, apart from you, maybe?"

"Yer dog has good manners, young'n. She know how t' say 'ello."

My sense of shame vied with my curiosity. I lowered my eyes with genuine humiliation. "I'm sorry I was rude. Ummm..." I mercilessly shoved around a peeble with the toe of my shoe. "Thank you for asking about my welfare. My little dog Orbit is very gentle and loving to strangers, though I've never seen her take to anyone like she's taking to you."

"Crittters of'en 're wiser than their owners. Owners!" The last word was spoken with an amused disdain followed by a guttural chuckle. "Ye own 'er as much as ye possess th' air ye breathe." He raised his staff and made a sweeping, embacing arc towards the quickly darkening woods. "Ye and yer wee hound both ha' seen th' same things, yet she know somethin' ye do not. These woods be fairy full! Ye're a witch, 're ye not, though I've seen none so wee before. Can ye not feel it? Fairies, young miss - these woods be thick with 'em. And they love th' edge o' things, like th' dyin' o' th' day. Ye always see 'em then. Aye, always then." A low, almost moaning laugh arose from him.

The hairs on my arms suddenly began to tingle, dancing a cold saraband up and down my extremities. The discourse of the little fellow had taken a turn not to my liking.

"I've never seen any fairies. I've heard a few stories about them, but I'm not sure I believe in them now. When I was a little girl I thought I'd like to see them, but that was a long time ago. Things change. I only believe in what I can see."

The little man slumped at my words, and sighed as if worn thin by hunger that fed on weariness. "Are ye never su'prised, young miss? Don't witnessin' surprisin' things need th' hope 'o seein' 'em? Why, you could be seein' a fairy right now 'an not know it. If ye don't love ev'ry dream or airy fancy, then how will ye know it when ye see it? If yer arms ain't open, how will ye embrace wha' dreams may come yer way? Th' life 'o humans be small, aye, wee as a spring bloom, and short sight makes it shorter." The small man seemed to droop even more, his shoulders sagging by weight of sorrow. "Did not your mum tell ye of th' fairies? She were a witch, too, were she not?"

"My mother was a witch, sir, and a great one! She instructed me in many arts...but she didn't live long enough to teach me everything she'd learned." Thoughts of what I had lost, who I missed, hollowed out my feelings and left me empty. "But I'm sure if she had ever seen a fairy, she would have told me, as she told me about so many magical creatures that are..."

"But young'n, sometime th' tellin' ain't i' words alone, nor in teachin' from musty, ancient books like do th' robed greats at wiz'rd schools. Nay. Some wisdom comes by touch, an' story, and by gazin' at th' moon when th' times be right. By feelin' th' winds blowin' through trees and bushes, lookin' at th' flight o' birds, an' fallin' in love with th' sharpness of beauty, bein' aware that th' shape o' loveliness lasts no longer than th' seein' of it. Aye, young miss, these too be teachers o' th' fairy soul. Ye need yer dreams more than ye require th' air, I reckon."

What I needed was Mum. She'd left me for a place in the ground. How could she have traded me for six feet of soil? I looked at the dirt beneath my feet and shivered.

"Nothin' truly alive can be held i' th' soil, can it young miss? Nay, nothin' tha' loves an' lives fer others can rest while there's work t' do. If yer mum ever held to th' fairies, she'll shew 'em to ye. An' then mayhaps ye'll find both th' fairies an' yer mum."

I grew cold when I realized that he had answered my thoughts and not my words.

My guest swiftly wrapped himself in his cape and began to walk away. "Witch er no, th' fairies will have their way with ye. Aye. Per'aps you'll be th' better fer it, though. They know th' worth o' things, they do. Aye ... the worth o' things. Ye'll see, young miss." With this, he glided around me, glancing back. With his hat raised slightly, I could now see his face. A scribble of wrinkles crisscrossed the terrain of his features, and a pointed nose rose up in the center of a furrowed landscape. His eyes sparkled with a mischief that reminded me of my father when he hears about some fantastic, fabulous tale and begins his mad, inky scratches. And just as quickly as I had met him, he slipped behind an old oak tree and disappeared.

"No, Orbit! Stay with me." I reached down and picked up Orbit, holding her tightly, since she seemed determined to follow the little fellow. I could feel her quivering with excitement. Could she feel me shaking from fear?

It was strange. As he vanished behind the oak, I thought I heard the tinkling of tiny bells, as if from a distance. Orbit must have heard it, too, since she tilted her head and raised one little ear. And was that cinnamon I smelled? No, no...that must be all wrong. I must have fallen harder than I thought. A hard fall shakes up the senses. At least that's what I had read somewhere. But, no, at least Orbit had heard the bells.

I turned away slowly. My eyes wanted to linger awhile where the curious little man had been. I could no longer see him, but he had brought with him something that lingered before me as if in the air. My mind wanted to breathe in what my senses could not grasp. He had spoken to me most curiously. Yet, his knowedge of me seemed intimate. The small man had made me feel unprotected and frightened. But sentences don't always sculpt our feelings. It was then I so much desired to feel the touch of my mother's hand along the curve of my cheek, comforting me, relieving me of all care. The swish of her hand against my skin had not consoled me for two years. But the bells? The cinnamon? Mother always wore perfume made of cinnamon, cloves, and oak moss. My mind must be playing tricks on me. The shabbily dressed man had scared me. He had caused me to long for a face I would never know again. And as quickly as glass shatters, my curiosity about him turned to hatred.

I put Orbit down and felt a small presence nuzzling my ankle. Orbit looked up at me with her enormous dark eyes, and pawed my shoe slowly and gently as if trying to tell me something. The message, whatever it might be, was lost on me. "Oh, Orbit. I wish you could talk."

Though it was August, under the forest's canopy the air grew dreadfully damp and cold. I don't know whether it was my fear or the fast approach of night, but suddenly a chill played over my skin like a game of hide and seek. I wrapped my cape around me, hoping for warmth and comfort. I took a few tentative steps and then rushed forward, trying to think neither of the little man, his burdensome words, or visions unseen.

I had not gone far when Orbit scampered through some reeds and began to bark with unrestrained fervor. I followed her like a loyal pet. The cattails were soft on my skin as I pushed them aside. The lake I had been seeking loomed before me. Night's shadows were deep, and the lake's surface mirrored the nearly full moon above. I no longer cared about what herbs might line the shore, nor if the lake were haunted. I could only remember my mother's words, "Luna, my little moonchild." I had forgotten them for so long. Here I was in the gloom, standing by still, dark waters, hoping to hear just once more a voice calling me "Luna, my little moonchild." A sadness flowed over me like time overwhelms the dead. Tears began to blur my vision. I blinked and fluttered my eyelids like a wounded bird trying to find the air once more.

It was then that faintly through my sniffles I began to hear soft bells, much clearer now than before. They were muffled as if surrounded by a hand wishing to hush their tune. Their ringing wove a spell of anticipation. Dull lights began to dance along the treeline of the lake, gamboling with elegant grace a stately waltz along the weedy shore. A fey, eerie luminescence radiated from deep within the dark waters. Its light was a deep blue green tinged with owl-eyed yellow. Beneath the surface there seemed to be structures shimmering in a unearthly glow. What were they? Stange domes and battlements, defending nothing that seemed threatening, came into view. Staircases ascending to spiraled towers floated fantastically before me in my vision. I shook my head. Surely this could not be real! With this one thought, both lights and visions vanished, leaving me and Orbit alone with croaking frogs and creamy shapes seen on the moonlit lake, images of the ordinary world.

The lake receded behind me as I walked, my thoughts disordered and shaken. Was the lake haunted by fairies? I didn't know, but I would find out. I would return tomorrow at dusk just like my mum would have done.

Day the Second

This evening seemed to be much colder than the previous night when I had seen such unexpected shapes in the lake. I wore my black cape against the unusual chill of a late August sunset. My father, the mad scribbler, sat in front of a large fire burning in an ancient hearth in the public room of the inn. He was reading a book titled "History of the Ancient Theories of Rain" doing research, he said, for an article in The Quibbler about Welsh whales. I knew it! I knew he couldn't let his own joke go unbelieved or unbelievable. Daddy's imagination knows no boundries.

As I sat watching Daddy work on The Quibbler, I wondered about something that I had remembered last evening. Why had my ever-so-practical mother loved The Quibbler so much? When Daddy brought home every new edition, she acted like a giddy young girl. She would clutch it to her breast and say, "Oh, love, thank you... thank you for everything." Then she would dance and swirl around the room in a trance of delight, put down the magazine, and lead my father upstairs to their room. They must have been playing some wild, curious game because I could hear shrieks of glee and merriment. It was very strange behavior I still do not understand.

"Daddy," I spoke over the crackles of the fire, "did Mum ever read The Quibbler?"

My father looked up from his book, smiling wanly. "She didn't have to, Luna love." The firelight played upon his face. He sat staring for some time. "No, Luna, I don't think she ever read my magazine. She didn't have to. She already knew what I put into it."

Of course, Mum was very intelligent, but I couldn't imagine her knowing all the sad, strange tales that make up The Quibbler. This puzzled me, and father must have noticed my bewilderment. "Luna, I think perhaps you will come to love The Quibbler as much as your mother," said my father with a quiet certitude.

Not wishing an argument, I called Orbit, who came running like a four legged muffler, eager for whatever might befall us. I smiled at my father, got up, and went toward the inn's old, iron-bound oak door. "Daddy, I'm going back to the lake. I hear there are some herbs that bloom only in the light of the full moon. I want to see them."

"Yes, Luna. Some things appear only in the light of the moon." Daddy smiled again, lowering his eyes to his book. I knew he wasn't reading it. He was still smiling, lost in one of his dreams.

Finding the path along the dry dirt road was much easier this time. As I walked, I picked some pink and red flowers with which I was unfamiliar. Orbit had noticed them first. She always finds the most delicate flowers. They smelled lovely, like honey on muffins at breakfast. The cicadas began to thrum a serenade to the coming darkness, and my footsteps fell naturally into the rhythm of their buzzing. A few stars began to show themsleves, and I wondered if they might be the most friendly ones, those who were most eager to play night games. When I was young, I used to believe stars were the eyes of night, and the brightest ones were the ones who loved us most. Shooting stars, I knew, wanted to come to earth to play with me, and the wandering stars - the planets - were the wise guides who showed us the ways of our life. As I walked, I raised my head to the shining little lights and waved hello - just in case my younger beliefs had been right all along.

Entering upon the nearly hidden path to the lake, I wondered if I would come across the strange little man I had met yesterday. He was so odd. A thousand questions seemed to surround him, and, unlike the poor garments he wore, the questions were woven of importance and weight. My hatred for him had cooled. At least for a moment, I thought I had felt... No, those touches were gone. But maybe if I could just see him again... The way he dressed, though, would make it difficult to tell him from the trees. He could be standing ten feet from me and I wouldn't be able to notice him. Orbit and I walked on but saw no one. For some reason I really wanted to see him again. Something about his words tickled and stirred my memories, and I wanted those memories very badly.

Coming to the lake, I heard lighthearted singing and unsuppressed giggles. I looked at the flowers I carried, thinking they might possess powers to guile the mind into weird humors. But they looked so innocent I quickly discounted the possibility. As I broke through some tall rushes, I witnessed a most amazing sight. Before me were several young girls not much older than I, some draped in loose diaphanous shifts of the palest colors, while others wore nothing apart from cleverly woven garlands in their long hair. Some stood on the shore, some waded knee deep in the dusky lake lit by the full moon. Others sat on rocks playing with rushes, taunting their own reflections by dabbing the surface of the water. All of them were beaming at me and radiating a golden light more subtle than starlight. Never in my life had I seen girls with such beautiful features. Though no girl was like another, the perfection of each suited her own delicate loveliness. Orbit became excited. She kept running to the edge of the lake, splashing her little feet in a sense of abandon, returning to me and whining as if saying, "Come with me! Oh, come and see what I have found!"

"Hello," said the lovliest of the girls. "We've been waiting for you. We knew you'd come back. Your curiosity didn't leave you much choice, did it? You heart calls to us. Oh, and I see you've brought us an offering of flowers. How thoughtful. And you are followed by a tiny hound, just like Lady Hecate." The girl raised her dainty arm and beckoned, "Come closer, please."

I had not the heart to tell the lovely maiden the flowers had been picked with no thought in mind other than because they were beautiful.

"But are we not as beautiful as they?" A radiant smile crossed the face of the bewitching young girl.

I looked down at my bouquet and silently acknowledged the truth of the observation. I then realized I had not spoken at all, and my unvoiced thought had been answered with words, just like the little man yesterday.

I started to back away, but the most beautiful one advanced quickly and reached for my flowers. She touched my hand as she grasped the bouquet. "My name is Ashura." A warmth spread through my fingers to my arm, and then through my spine. I closed my eyes, and found her hand blindly, taking it without any other purpose than to please her.

"Keep your eyes closed, and we will show you what you most want to see," said Ashura. Her voice held my mind like dreams in early morning.

I felt a slight chill. My cloak clung to me as if I were walking in a heavy mist on a dark night. Orbit's whining sounded farther and farther away. I could smell the water of the lake strongly with its rushes and weeds, an aroma of damp earth and decay. It was suddenly replaced by the soothing smell of cinnamon and chestnuts. My chill vanished, giving way to a gentle heat like one feels under a warm blanket on a snowy winter's day.

A brief, soft touch from Ashura's hand swept over my temple, and the softest command I ever heard was simple and direct: "Open your eyes, Luna."

What I saw made my soul cry for the beauty of it. There swimming in palest blue were the towers, staircases, and battlements I had seen the previous night. Every edge of the city shimmered with a salmon pink glow. Before me was a town not of earth and bricks, but one made of loveliness and furious desire. I could hear the blood beating in my veins wishing to escape and spread itself into every crevice between the stones, never wanting to leave, always nestling close to the streets of phantasy, the alleys of delight, and the towers of wisdom.

What was this place? I had never seen the like of it, yet its beauty called even to my blood. I tried to recall all the lore I had read in books, but no book had ever - could ever - describe what stretched before my eyes. The staircases leading to the towers had etched on them writing of a sinuous character that glowed golden, letters of an alphabet so strange that they seemed alive in their curves. The towers to which the staircases rose were not made of stone but seemed to craft themselves of violet light and pale green shadows, groaning to strive to whatever ridiculous heights possible. I could sense an undeniable power of wonder flowing from these living towers, as if each new moment came to be only because they granted it leave to exist.

The streets beneath my feet swam in pools of greens, blues, orchid, and old rose. Shapes formed in front of me on the ground as my mind thought them. My inmost imaginings took form in front of me as if the streets had become my eyes. In my fancy, I traveled within the city, but the city created itself from my deepest longings, showing that it could be both my twin and mentor. My skin no longer knew the boundries between me and this living place. I could feel the joy of the streets and the immense striving of the towers. The staircase writings became my words, and I began to understand their laughter and whimsy.

"Luna," hissed Ashura, "come back to us. Return. You are not one of fairykind and cannot stay."

My stunned mind collapsed upon itself as I heard Ashura's voice. No longer could I feel the city within me. But the word 'fairy' had given me a clue about Ashura and the unearthly city. "You're Ladies of the Lake, but... How? I mean, I thought you were a ... well, a made-up tale."

"A fairy tale? No, as you see, we are not." Ashura held Orbit, caressing her head as gently as petals closing upon a flower at sunset. She looked at me with curiosity. "To us, tales of humans seem as fantastic as do stories of fairies seem to you. You know us, yet you do not. Did no one ever tell you strange stories of moonlit nights and watery worlds where love dwells?" Ashura looked at me with pleading eyes.

"My mum used to tell me. I remember when she whispered these stories I felt so light, almost weightless, and so warm. I can recall the feelings but I have trouble recollecting the stories. After she died, I couldn't bear to remember them."

Ashura put down Orbit, who very ladylike sniffed Ashura's foot. A little black fur ball moved to my side, and glanced up at me expectantly. Ashura looked at me with concern bordering on tears. "Luna, come with me."

Some of the young maidens followed us at a distance, while others went about their separate way. Those that followed were coy in their gestures and demeanor, as if they knew a secret I cold not guess. Orbit kept glancing at them as she walked by my side, displaying a sense of eager playfulness. She always acted this way when she was pursuing a game. Only this time, I didn't understand the nature of the entertainment.

Ashura and I walked down a sloping, narrow street that curved to the right. The folds of her delicate pale blue shift glinted shades of lavendar and old rose as we walked. The shape and outline of her form were clearly visible beneath her shift, which seemed not so much to cover as to display her finely developed curves. Her arm was protectively draped around my shoulder, and I caught scent of fressia and cardamon. She wore no shoes. Her lovely, slender feet walked as if they stepped on nothing more substantial than clouds. Her steps were a ballet to lightness and grace. For the first time in ages, I felt warm and safe.

I would have strolled right into a lake that was now before us had not Ashura hugged me closely. On the shoreline trees of every hue trembled, and I thought I could hear an unfamiliar, melodious, whispered song.

"These trees are homes to our sisters, the hamadryads. And the waters of this lake are the Waters of the World that belong to all fairies. Here harbor all the world's dreams. Every wonder and reverie that is or ever will be houses itself here."

I stood entranced at the magnitude and fragile beauty of the lake. Even though there was no wind, tiny waves rippled across water colored like sapphires in moonlight. Without warning, brilliant flashes of light erupted on the surface, each intense sparkle a unique color. Many of the tones I had never seen before, nor could I name them. My eyes were witnessing the birth of new hues, not shown to the world before now. Did such extraordinary colors herald the birth of fresh dreams? Was this what the compassion of discovery looked like: scintillating explosions embracing the night air and dying with a happy languor?

A tender embrace from Ashura caused me to snuggle securely into the folds of her shift. I knew I was being readied for a journey but would I be prepared for the destination? Ashura gripped my shoulder firmly and took the first step by means of a story. "Twelve years ago, two humans found their way to our lake during a full moon. Their love flamed as bright as ever any fairy's love did, and we swooned at the beauty of it. Few wizards ever deserve our attention, and fewer still win our devotion and admiration." Ashura's brow was furrowed by wrinkles of remembrance.

I found this startling. "But surrounded by such beauty," I waved my arm vaguely, "how could two people ever come to your attention?"

"The heart of a fairy is not just filled with love, but is love itself, and life, and all you have seen since you came here. When we find such love in humans, we fly to them and create a bond so strong that nothing can ever separate their hearts. It should be interesting to you that the woman was a brilliant witch and the man was a dreamer of dreams." She looked down at me, cocking her head, proffering a wry smile that beckoned a reponse of recognition.

A brilliant witch? A dreamer? How many times had I described my parents in just those words? I had not thought I was here by coincidence. I was here for a reason. I think I knew what Ahsura was going to say next, and my heart stopped till she spoke again.

Ashura touched my cheek. "Yes, Luna, those two lovers were your mother and father.

"You met Mum? You knew her? And my father, too?" Even Orbit seemed excited as she danced around me.

"Yes, she and your father were here."

As well as I thought I knew them, my parents held a deep secret of which I knew nothing! They had never told me this part of their life. Maybe it was too private and precious to share. Maybe it could not be told in mere, cold words alone. "My mum and dad, how did they come to be here on that night of the full moon?"

"Though fairy magic is very different from wizard magic, they are not unalike. Wizard magic combined with piercing love can cross barriers to the fairy world. That night, with the moon full, your parents came to this very lake by means even they did not fully understand. We did not question why this was so or how it came to be. We only responded with the fire of a fairy's heart. We could see their love like a blinding light. We could also see their differences from one another."

The differences between Mum and Dad had always been apparent to me. But they loved each other so much, there oddly separate ways of doing things didn't matter. I was in love with their love for me. When all the planets of my world orbited and revolved in harmony, the fact they were distinct didn't give rise to concern - only a quiet awe and comfort. But I had to know what happened between the fairies and my parents. Maybe if I knew, the darkness which clouded about me would disappear. Maybe I could recall the stories Mum told me. "Please, tell me about that night. What were Mum and Dad like then?"

"Your mother wanted to know all the strange, curious secrets of the wizarding world and organize them in her brilliantly complex mind. We knew she would weave theories for everything. She was a powerful witch like few we had ever seen, yet so human in her quest. Your father was a man of waking visions, who needed to believe in things unseen, to know that the flurry and strangeness of life didn't cease because theories were supposed to explain everything. In this he was much like us. For your mother, seeing was believing. Your father believed so that he might see. Their love was fierce and strong. Though they faced life from different directions, their love was like a rope with two ends."

"But even the strongest rope may break if the tension is too strong, and this we did not desire. Here were two magical humans whose nature seemed to span both the fairy and wizarding worlds. So, we granted those two lovers each one wish for the heart of the other. Your father knew that your mother's search for knowledge can sometimes cause one to forget the smallest things that make up our lives. So, he wished that she would always love butterfly wings, acorns, gentle breezes, wind-borne clouds, and stories of fantastic creatures. He wanted for her those things someone as gifted as your mother often forgets in their theories."

I looked down at my shoes. "Ashura, do you think that ...umm... maybe my father's wish for my mother was passed on to me? I mean, loving little things and strange stories?"

"The child of two such loving people blessed by fairy gifts receive all those boons given. Oh, yes, Luna. You are in spirit the child of both your parents. And yet ... it is possible for you to reject what has been handed down to you. Fairy blessings are not fate."

"Oh, no... Please, I want everything that belonged to Mum. All those beautiful stories she told me ... I want them back. I need them."

"It's not just the stories, Luna. If you accept your mother's gift fully, you will also love all those little, frivolous sights that catch your beautiful eyes. You were a child full of dreams. If you really want what was your mother's, then you will become a girl whirled by the winds of reverie. You will be brilliant like she who raised you, and yet be able to envisage what others ignore. More than that, you will possess the capacity to see things other wizards cannot."

I studied my shoes some more. I remembered how fairy gifts were sometimes tricky. They were not always what they seemed to be. I needed to hear more and to think about everything being revealed to me. "Tell me, Ashura, what was my mother's wish for my father?"

Ashura looked at the lake as she told me of my mother's wish. "She loved your father very much, but as much as anything she loved the sweep of his dreams and the arc of his fantasies. So, she wished that, as long as your father loved her, he would somehow show her that he still pursued his dreams. The pursuit of his imagination would always be a sign for her that he still loved her. When he stopped dreaming, she would know that he no longer cared."

My shoes no longer held any interest for me. I raised my head and took in the sweep of the lake. Suddenly, I realized I had forgotten to breathe. My lungs began to ache, but my heart ached even more. A long, hissing sigh escaped. But my heart was heavier than ever. The hamadryad trees hummed a sweet but mournful tune. Then I noticed my tears. It didn't matter to me if I cried, since I knew they, too, were the Waters of the World.

I had never felt so close to Mum and Dad and yet so different from them. There love had been for each other, but mine was for a world of wonders.

"I want both gifts, Ashura. My mother's sight and my father's fancies." With this decision I gained a sense of peace and serenity. I was coming home.

Ashura moved to one of the smallest trees near us. From its lowest branch was hanging a large blue silk purse upon which was embroidered complicated curlicues beautifully wrought. She removed it and held it before me. Opening it, there was a battered copy of The Quibbler! I almost fainted. She touched my cheek again. "This is how your father always showed your mother he was still a dreamer. It was a gift to her from his heart."

I remembered my father's words about Mum. "...I don't think she ever read my magazine. She didn't have to. She already knew what I put into it." Mum realized love was at the core of my father's work. That was why Mother danced every time Dad brought home a new Quibbler!

Ashura took The Quibbler and held it out to me. She then lightly brushed my right hand into which I had accepted the magazine. "You will be different from others because you will believe what others cannot. You will seek out strange fantasies, and by doing so will keep your mind forever young."

We walked but a short distance to a golden pillar so ornately designed that it could only be the work of a great fairy artisan. The pillar came to my waist. Upon it was a silver box the size of a large book. The silver was etched with great fish and mermaids. Ashura picked it up and held it before me, slowly opening it. There, sitting on white satin, was a necklace made of butterbeer corks and a pair of radish earrings. I looked at her with genuine obliviousness.

"On a glorious spring day when you were five years old, your mother made for you just such a necklace. She said the corks would keep you afloat when you sailed on a sea of dreams. You quickly plucked two radishes, put a string through each, and looped them around your ears. Do you remember what you told your mother they would do?"

I looked at Ashura with tears in my eyes. I now recalled the necklace, but I didn't know why I had made the earrings. "I'm sorry. I've forgotten."

"You said, 'When I'm floating out there, Mummy, these red earrings will help you find me. I'll never get lost! Isn't that great!' Your mum tugged at the earrings, saying, 'Yes, Luna love, they're so bright I'll always be able to find you.' Didn't you embace your mother then? Didn't you rush to show your father that you were now a lighthouse keeper of dreams? Don't you understand memories are nothing more than magical dreams?"

By Merlin's beard! I did remember! The scene came back to me in a vividness that made it live once more before my eyes. I slowly took with my left hand the necklace and earrings from the box Ashura held, and as I did so other tales and fantasies my mum told me rushed through my mind. I had been a "dreamy child". That's what Mum and Dad had said I was: a child who sees beyond the edge of things.

I kept thinking about some of the fantastic stories my mother had told me when I was young. Since her death, I had pushed them out of my mind not because I disliked those wondrous tales but because I hated the loss of which they reminded me. I could see her sitting in our window seat, lit by a warm, yellow patch of sunlight and telling me about The Old Man in the Moon, or the legendary White Cat with wings like a bird who championed mice. Some memories came back easily, and others returned furiously with both sadness and joy. Tears fell down my face joined with giggles, sniffs, and smiles. Ashura must think me mad. I cautiously looked at her to see if she was concerned, but Ashura's mouth curved into a smile like someone who had just tasted the most delicious ice cream ever placed before them.

The butterbeer cork necklace in my hand felt warm. Yes, when I was five years old she had made it for me. Made of the most insignificant, little triffles, she had formed for me a beautiful present that made her laugh with glee as she gave it to me. And like her, I had taken two lowly radishes and created a beacon for her to find me.

Ashura touched my left hand as softly as a leaf falls to the ground in autumn. The jewelry felt even warmer than previously. "As long as you possess these you will always gaze on the small things that make up your life. You will be different because you will see things others do not. But however small you may seem in other's eyes, your heart will be large enough to love everything."

"And now, Luna, I give one wish to you." She beamed at me.

It seemed the flames of fairy love burned within my heart for everything around me, all I could see and all hidden from me. I wanted to know everything, believe everything! More than anything else, I wanted to be the person I was before my mother died.

"You helped me remember that little five year old girl, what I felt and loved. Please, help me to become what that little girl was on the spring morning when my mother gave me my precious gift."

Ashura reached into the lake and to my great surprise retrieved a wand from the waters. She caressed my head with her left hand as she said, "This wand is your will. At its core are three things: the hair of a unicorn, a tear from a phoenix, and the feather of a raven. If you accept this gift, then you will be forever changed, not by fate but by the magic of your own heart. But you must accede, Luna. You will become what you have not allowed yourself to be: the child of both your brilliant mother and your dreaming father. Once touched by this wand, you will see and feel with both your parents gifts. But most important of all, you will become once more what you have always been. Do you wish it?"

With a butterbeer cork necklace in one hand and The Quibbler in the other, I knew the wand would complete me. It had been so long since I had felt like a whole person, someone whose spirit rode carefree winds. I was tired of being half of what I was. I looked at The Quibbler in my right hand and thought of my father - the mad, frazzled, glorious scribbler. The necklace made me smile, and the radish earrings would perhaps allow Mum to find me at last.

I looked at Ashura, closed my eyes, and nodded. She took the wand and tapped me lightly on the head. Warmth from my forehead whirled throughout my body. Even though my eyes were shut, visions filled my mind - glorious visions not seen since I was a child. My heart opened like a lotus to everything I could ever believe. I staggered but Ashura steadied me. When I opened my eyes, I saw Ashura as a being born anew.

She grinned with pleasure and then presented the wand to me. I started to take it but realized both my hands were full. Like a drunken man, I fumbled first with my right hand holding The Quibbler, then with my left holding the jewlery, trying to figure out how to take the wand. She raised the wand over my head and I feared she was going to prod me for my clumsiness. But suddenly she placed the wand behind my left ear, saying, "Always wear it there. It seems fitting."

The figure of Ashura and the fairy city wavered before me. I blinked and next found myself by the shore of the earthly Welsh lake from whence I had begun my journey. Only Orbit was with me, shaking her head furiously and looking a little stunned. I marveled how, within the wink of an eye, one's whole life could change. It seemed both beautiful and unfair at the same time. I had lost a fairy realm but regained a beautiful country I had thought lost forever. I knew which was more important.

The night was far advanced and the moon was high in the sky. I explored with new sight whatever I might discover. Looking around, I wondered what strange beasts lurked behind the trees, what furry creatures slinked through the darkness. But I was not afraid. No, my heart throbbed not with terror but with eager curiosity. I woke to the breath of night, and realized I would believe in everything my mind could conceive.

A rustle of the bushes to my right drew my attention. Perhaps it was a Long Nosed Frabjous Welsh Wartle. I peered intently into the shadows. I had never seen a Wartle of any kind! And here I was possibly facing a Welsh Wartle. I wish Daddy were here. He would love this!

"Even'n, young miss. No Wartle be I. Tis only me. You do frame me in yer mind, do ye not?"

The little man! Oh, yes, I did remember him well. "Sir ... yes, yes ... I was hoping to see you again. There are so many questions I have! You were right about the fairies, you know. I think you are are a fairy too, actually."

" Do ye? I be a fairy o' sorts, I sup'ose. I reckon me sisters shewed ye what ye be needin', else yer eyes would'na be bulgin' an' bright like a full moon risen. Oh, aye ... I see well enough i' th' dark ... night make no dif'rence to me, no dif'rence a' all. Aye, did I not tell ye they knew th' worth 'o things? Saw it right off me self, I did, did'n I? There ye were, spread out o'er th' floor o' th' forest like a broke jug ... an' I saw it ... th' worth o' things ... saw you, young miss."

"But ... how ... I mean ..." I could feel my face redden and my skin grow hot. "But ... you only saw my ... my ... backside first"

"Aye. But i' make no dif'rence. Think, now ... did I not say ye'd be notic'd up or down? See, young witch, mos' humans be dull an' o' little int'rest to the likes o' us, what wi' their minds on some matter o' a pond'rous nature that, most like, be nothin' to bother th' brain about a' all ... nay, humans mostly be like shadows to us. E'en wizards only twinkle a bit. But ye ... ye shined an' glow'd with a light none o' us could rightly miss. The light o' fairyland were 'pon ye. Oh, aye, there were a few clouds about ye ... I could see that ... but I knew th' darkness tha' followed ye about could'na be there ferever."

He started to move away into the shadows. "No ... please ... I have questions ... I need to know. Who are you?"

"Me? Oh, I be named by many names, here an' about. Got lots o' shapes, I do. What were it tha' English Muggle said, 'A rose what be called anythin' else still smells just as sweet.' Yeah, I r'member when 'e wrote i' down. Whisperin' over 'is shoulder, I was. Well, some there be who call me th' Piper at th' Gates o' Dawn. Fancy, t'ain't it? Has a ring t' it, if I do say so m'self." At this, the litle fellow chuckled, and withdrew from underneath his cloak a small musical instrument. He blew across the uneven pipes, making a sound like a thousand doves.

"Oh, no ... please don't go! Wait! There is so much..."

Before he slipped behind a tree, he stoped, and looked at me, displaying the toothiest grin I had ever seen. "Oh, ye'll see me of'en enough, though others won't, ev'n if ye be circled by dozens. Aye, Luna, ye'll always see me n' matter wha' shape I be... and ye'll know th' worth o' things."

He quickly jabbed his staff into the hard ground and left it standing on its own. Orbit briskly trotted to where the staff stood, sniffing it with a certain expectant ardor. "Nay, houndlet, this be not fer ye. G' on yer way, now." Orbit obeyed with a low whine and slinked back to my side. "Now, Luna lass, come hither an' stand by me staff an' listen t' th' wind. Aye, odd things be heard sometime."

With that, he moved into the shadows and dissappeared, but not I think for good.

A small but determined breeze began to rustle tree branches all around me, and golden leaves waltzed across the forest floor in a slow, mysterious dance. I looked around in the moonlight and slowly sidled to the little man's staff. A gust blew the hood of my cape off my head, and I hugged myself because I was both cold and suspenseful. At first I heard nothing. Then the smallest semblance of a voice formed itself on the windy currents as they blew across the wand. What it was saying, I couldn't hear... I strained intently to listen, but I learned that by relaxing I could hear the voice more clearly.

"_Luna...Lo... Luna, my sw..t. lit.. mo..c.hd_!"

It was maddening! I almost heard it. My heart yearned to hear this voice!

"_Luna.. Love...Luna my sweet little moonchild! My little lighthouse, I see you... you shine so brightly in your heart." _

"Mother? Oh, Mother! Is that you?" My whispers died as my excitement exploded.

"_Shhhhhh... I'm waiting. I'll find you in your dreams._"

The wind ceased, and I was alone with Orbit. But strangely I was not alone at all. Her voice had spoken only some few words to me, but they were enough. Now I knew... and now I could hope.

Walking back to the inn, I could only begin to imagine what sights would come to me if only I watched, hoped, and waited. I would not always be understood, and I realized that other witches and wizards might think me a bit odd. But you cannot see the fairies and go unchanged. I felt a little sorry most others would go unseeing down the course of their lives. Even Orbit appeared changed by her encounter with the fairies. She used to chase and snap at fireflies. Now she just stared at them with her head askew.

As I opened the door of the inn, the fire in the huge grate burned low. My father was asleep in a chair, his head slumped on a table littered and strewn with papers. I shut the door silently and hurried to his side, kneeled and put my arms around him, nuzzling my cheek against his. He stirred, forced his eyes open, and looked at me groggily.

"Luna... you've returned. Uh... what's that stick doing behind your ear?"

"It's a long story, Daddy... one that might sound familiar. Is that your new article about Welsh whales?"

"What? Oh ... yes it is. I'm going to print it in next month's Quibbler."

I could see the fire in his eyes, the enthusiasm. "Daddy, I'd really love to read it."

He beamed at me in a knowing way, and gave it to me. "Yes, my little Fairy Moon."


End file.
